'Will that be sufficient light, Mistress?'
'Thank you, yes.'
Just the nearness of him made her throat dry, and her whole body ached with the effort not to reach out for him. She was relieved when he returned to his chair and she could begin her recital. She started to play, hesitantly at first but soon she forgot her audience in enjoyment of the music. The bright sound echoed around the old room. A quick glance showed her that her father was tapping his fingers on the arm of his chair, while Henry merely scowled and quaffed his wine. John, she noticed, was watching her with rapt attention, which pleased and frightened her in equal measure. If Henry should be suspicious of their guest and mention it to the earl, who knew what might occur? She could not help but remember the duel, fought out in the candlelit ballroom at the Keep. The earl had only wounded John then, but if it should happen again…
Her fingers trembled. She missed a note but recovered quickly, forcing herself to concentrate upon the music. John needed her to be brave.
'Very pretty,' declared Amos when the final notes had been played. 'What say you, Master Steel?'
'I enjoyed it very much.'
'Father - it is late, are you not tired?' put in Henry, a hint of impatience in his voice.
'No, no, not a whit. Kate, my love, play that piece your Mama liked so much. The one by, by M. Dieupart, I think.'
Henry yawned openly. 'Well, I for one am devilish tired. If our guest will excuse me I shall retire.'
John inclined his head in silent acquiescence and Henry stomped out.
Amos chuckled. 'Poor fellow, he never could abide music. Carry on, my love, carry on.'
The old man settled back in his chair and closed his eyes. Soon he was snoring gently. John looked at the slumbering figure then he carried his chair across to sit beside Katherine.
'Would you like me to turn the pages for you?'
'Why yes, thank you.'
Her eyes shifted momentarily to her father and John guessed she was loath to stop playing in case the break in the rhythm should rouse him. She said softly, 'Your swords are still at the Keep. At least, there are a dozen or so boxes in the tower room, just as you described. The key to the tower door is kept in a cupboard just inside the steward's room, which is in the eastern tower of the gatehouse. The guest list names over a hundred people, some local families, but also the earl's closest friends, including Radleigh and Sir George Bedleston. And he is also expecting some of the Seymour family from Alnwick.' She stopped talking to concentrate on a particularly intricate phrase in the music, but soon spoke again. 'I think the earl wants me to believe that he is supporting the government, but when I pressed Henry he told me the truth, that Warenford thinks the marriage will bring him extra support from those who would look to my father for a lead.' The final few chords died away and Amos stirred. Kate said more loudly, 'Will you bear with me while I try Master Bach's Italian concerto, sir? It is one of the few pieces I purchased for myself. I was obliged to send to London for it.'
'By all means, madam.'
'I pray you will forgive me if my playing is not perfect, I have not practised the piece as much as I ought.'
A loud snore from her father made them both look across, but the old man appeared to be sound asleep in his chair. Kate turned to John.
'I think Lily was in Davis's room when we were there,' she said quickly. 'I asked after his wife, in her hearing. It is not right that he should use the poor girl so ill. Perhaps it was cruel of me, but I would not have her continue with her false hopes.' She sighed. 'The wedding seems so very close.'
'Do not fret, love. Matthew and I will steal into the Keep and destroy the swords, then I shall spirit you and your father away before the wedding can take place. I will not let you go now.'
She sighed, and ran her fingers over the keys.
'No, please don't leave me.'
From half-closed eyes Amos Ellingham watched the young couple at the harpsichord, their heads close together as they talked in whispers, and he smiled to himself.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The next day, as soon as it was light, John and Matthew resumed their watch of the bay, mufflers wound tight about their necks to keep off the icy wind.
'Catrigg has just come ashore,' said Matthew, peering through the telescope. 'Lily is cleaning the catch, and her father is busy spreading out his nets to dry.'
'I wonder if he has been to the marker?' muttered John.
'No point, if Thropton's to be believed. The ship's been run off.'
'I wouldn't wager against her slipping back into the bay. How often have we seen a naval cutter on patrol here, once, twice? 'Tis a mighty long coast they have to watch.'
'True, Master John. So, shall we check the marker? Gordon told me his cousin has a rowing boat. I am a little out of practice, but…'
'Aye, when it is dark we will do so. For now we should go and wait for Lily on the coast road. She will be taking those fish to the Keep as soon as they are ready.'
It was shortly after noon when they saw the maid pushing her handcart along the rough track towards the Keep. They had dismounted and tied their horses to a bush, so they only had to step out into the road before her.
Lily stopped, dropped the cart handles and stretched, easing her shoulders. John felt a wave of sympathy for the girl. There were dark hollows under her eyes and although she was still a very pretty maid, the sparkle had gone from her blue eyes.
He touched his cap to her and smiled. 'Good morning, Lily. We need a little help from you. A very little thing, and we would pay handsomely.' He held up a purse and shook it so that the coins inside chinked enticingly.
Lily's blue eyes widened. 'You would pay me?'
'Of course.'
'No one's ever paid me afore. When I works at the Three Tuns Fawden gives my wages straight to me da' so I never sees a penny.'
'Well you shall have lots of pennies now, my dear, if you can help us. There is a small door in the wall of the Keep at its most easterly point. Could you make sure it is unlocked for us tonight?'
Lily looked surprised.
'The postern gate? Why, yes, Master Steel, I will check, but 'tis rarely locked. The men keep a small dinghy there. They use it to go into Craster to see their womenfolk. It's very lonely, like, up at the Keep.'
'And what does the earl say to this?'
'Oh, he doesn't know. He thinks that because he has forbidden his men to go out at night they all obey him, but they don't. Nor does Davy.' Her eyes filled with angry tears. 'I was going to tell him, but then I found he w-was playin' me false, so now I don't tell him nothing.'
'Lily,' Matthew spoke gently, 'You should not let him use you any more, it's not right.'
She wiped her eyes on her apron.
'He'll kill me if I refuse him.'
'You could go to the church, ask the parson to protect you.'
'Do you think he could do so?' She shook her head. 'Davy would find me out. Besides, I still love 'im, Master Deane. I couldna' live without him.'
There was an awkward silence, then John handed Lily the purse.
'Off you go, Lily.'
They watched her take up the cart again and continue with her journey.
'Poor child,' muttered Matthew. 'How could she love such a man?'
'Doubtless he showed her a little kindness at some time. Perhaps if he is removed, she will recover. Come on, Matty. I want to get back to the Manor and tell Gordon we will need his cousin's boat tonight.'
* * *
'Master John, it's my belief we are on a fool's errand.' Matthew leaned on his oars, peering into the darkness around them. A heavy sea mist had rolled in almost as soon as they had set off and although John regularly consulted his pocket compass by the light of the lantern he had brought with him, Matthew was very doubtful of their success. 'I'm not saying we won't find the Keep, mayhap even the landing place, but we have no chance of finding the marker in this weather, not without a miracle.'
'Don't be so gloomy, my frie
nd. The marker cannot be far out of our way, and be thankful we have the tide running with us, else your breaks from rowing would see us drifting out to sea.'
'Small comfort,' grumbled Matthew, taking up the oars again. 'A more foolhardy venture – '
John grabbed his wrist, hissing at him to be quiet. There was a splash, and the murmur of voices somewhere ahead of them, how far away it was impossible to tell. John smothered the lantern with his greatcoat and they drifted silently in darkness, listening to the muted sounds of activity coming through the mist.
'Could be the red-sailed ship,' breathed John. ' But how could they find the marker in this fog?'
'Perhaps they reached it before the mist rolled in.' murmured Matthew, trying to keep the oars as still as possible in their rowlocks. The voices were replaced by a muffled grating and clanking.
'Weighing anchor,' whispered John. 'Pray God they don't come this way.'
They remained motionless for what seemed like eternity, until there was nothing but silence around them again. Then John uncovered the lantern, checked his compass and directed Matthew to row against the drift. Suddenly one of the oars struck an obstacle.
'The marker!' John laughed softly. 'Matty, I think we have our miracle.'
Matthew lifted the marker's rope with his oar and dragged it towards him. In minutes they had located a lobster cage which contained a wide-necked jar wrapped in oilcloth. John unwrapped it, eased out the cork and removed a small package.
'There's a note here. Hold the lantern steady, Matt, while I read it.' He peered at the spidery writing, and read slowly, 'Collection on the 19th. High tide.'
'Tells us very little, Master John.'
'Well, we know it's the night of the ball and high tide will be …. about midnight. But what will they be collecting?'
'Arms, mayhap?'
'Possible. We must make sure the swords are not available.' John folded the paper and carefully replaced it in the jar. 'This is very crude, but fortunate for us. If it had been a wine bottle, and sealed, it would have been impossible to intercept it without anyone knowing.'
Carefully he replaced the basket and marker in the water and climbed over to sit beside Matthew and take one of the oars.
'What now, sir?'
'We'll pass the information to Thropton. If all goes well tonight, there will be nothing left in the Keep to link Wolf to the rebels.'
'Just one small point, Master John. If all does not go well, we won't be able to tell anyone.'
'Matthew, you are a Job's comforter! When we get to the Keep, once I have checked the gate, you will leave me and row back to the beach. By my reckoning you should be back on the land before the tide turns.'
'But – '
'No arguing, my friend. I want you to bring the horses along the coast road and wait for me, as near as you can below the north tower. It should not take you more than a couple of hours to get there. I will wait as long as possible before making my move. In fact, the longer the better, since there is more chance of everyone being asleep. If I do not come, you must find Thropton and lay the whole before him.'
Matty swore. 'Away, man, I'll not leave you!'
'You must,' said John. 'There is too much at stake to do otherwise, Matthew.'
Matthew glared at John, but he clamped his jaws and rowed on in silence. The fog bank was rolling inland and the darkness was relieved by a few twinkling stars and the crescent moon occasionally showing through the broken cloud. The black outline of the Keep was visible now and the slap of waves told them they were close to land. They approached cautiously, using the oars to keep them off the jagged rocks.
'The devil! These rocks will tear us asunder if we try to land here,' growled Matthew.
John looked up at the Keep's curtain wall. The top edge of the wall was unbroken, there was no tower at this point, nothing to use as a guide. He thought back to his first visit to the Keep, when he had walked around the perimeter of the outer ward.
'I have it! Pull off, Matty, pull off. We need to row out a little.' He kept his eyes fixed on the wall as they moved away from the treacherous rocks and skirted the promontory.
'That's it.' He pointed to the black wall. 'There, do you see, a slit that is a lighter grey than the rest? It's a loophole, and that's the sky you can see through it. When I was here in the summer I noted that opening from the other side. I remember there was a lantern standing there. I'd wager that's how they make their collections! When a ship is due, they light the lantern and stand it in the opening: do you see, Matty? A light in that thick wall would only be seen by anyone directly approaching. It would guide them into the channel and the landing place.'
'Well, if you say so,' said Matthew doubtfully. 'Let us try it.'
Keeping in line with the pale oblong, they approached the Keep again. John tensed, waiting for their hull to judder against the rocks and be torn asunder. It did not happen and he let out a long, relieved breath. The little boat slid into the channel and touched gently on a smooth sloping rock that formed a natural landing place. John pulled his coat about him and stepped out, his boots barely touching the lapping waves. He ran up to the wall, where the deep shadow made it difficult to locate the small door, but at last it was before him. There was something on the ground just to one side of the door, visible only as a denser shadow. He reached over to it and felt the rough boards of an up-turned hull, which he guessed was the boat used by the men for their amorous excursions into Craster. Returning to the door he ascertained that it was unlocked then went back to the boat.
'Off you go, Matty. I will join you at the base of the cliff in a few hours.'
He picked up a coil of rope from the boat and threw it over his shoulder. He held out his hand.
Matthew gripped it, saying gruffly, 'Have a care, man.'
John gave the boat a little push and watched his man row off with a strong, steady rhythm. Then he went back to the postern gate. He lifted the latch and opened the door a little, listening and looking about him for any activity. With a sliver of moon just rising it was very dark, a dim world in shades of black and grey. John tried to remember what he had seen in the summer. To his left had been the animal pens and latrines while to the right the curtain wall ran uninterrupted until the stable blocks that had been built next to the north tower. He moved to the right. Not a light showed from any of the buildings but he kept to the shadowed wall to avoid any watching eyes as he made for the nearest stable. Inside it was warm and well kept, smelling of fresh hay and horses. It was even darker than outside, but he could just make out the outline of a handcart pushed into one corner, and fresh straw piled into an empty stall. John set down the rope, shrugged off his greatcoat and set to work piling straw into the cart. When he had filled the small cart he wrapped himself in his coat, curled up in one corner of the empty stall and waited.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
John knew he must give Matthew time to get back across the bay. Then he would have to bring the horses around the coastal track, and in the darkness he could not expect to hurry. The deep stillness of the night seemed to grow as the hours wore on, and the muted roar of the sea was the only sound to be heard.
At last John judged it time to move. Picking up the rope he crept out of the stable and looked about him. Nothing moved. The bailey was deserted, no guards stood on the battlements. Clearly, the earl was not expecting an attack. Keeping to the shadows, he made his way past the north tower. The curtain wall from here to the gatehouse was castellated and a wooden ladder near the lock-up provided access to the wooden parapet walk that ran its length.
John swiftly climbed the ladder and groped along the wall until he found a stout supporting beam where he could secure one end of the rope before throwing the rest over the wall. He had no real idea of the height of the cliff, but he hoped the rope would reach far enough to provide him with an escape route. Glancing over the wall he could see very little except that he was over the land now, so there was no danger of him descending into the sea. He went back
to the stables and wheeled out the handcart. Work was still being carried out on the buildings and the carpenter had left the oddments of timber pushed into a corner. John picked up the smaller pieces and added them to the straw in the cart.
He pushed on towards the north tower, where he piled the straw against the door and took out his tinder box. Soon the straw was crackling merrily. He fed the flames with pieces of wood until he had a steady blaze. Carefully, he picked up one of the burning splinters and pushed it through the arrow slit window. This was followed by more straw, then more burning wood which he pushed through to the floor with one of the longer pieces of timber. If he could just get enough of a fire burning inside, once it reached the sword boxes the dry wood and chaff that packed each box would provide perfect material for an inferno.
He was still busily feeding straw through the loophole when he heard a shout, and the alarm bell in the gatehouse began to clamour. Doors were opening, more voices joined in. John swiftly sank back into the shadows beneath the parapet walk. Fortunately, the glare from the fire was attracting all the attention, men were shouting and running towards the tower, calling for water. John did not wait. He clambered swiftly up the ladder and slipped between the battlements, slithering hand over hand down the rope, his body banging heavily against the cliff in his hasty descent.
The rope was too short. He could hear the roar of the waves, but in the darkness it was impossible to tell how far it was to the ground. He set his jaw, knowing he had no choice. He lowered himself as far as possible then let go, falling the last few feet onto a tangle of bracken and brambles. John uttered up a small prayer: if the beam where he had fastened the rope had been a couple of yards closer to the north tower then he would have landed on the tumbled rocks of the seashore. Scratched and bruised he pushed himself to his feet and looked up. He could see no flames. The tower was a black outline against a rosy backdrop of smoke and sparks, but the roar of the nearby waves drowned out any noise from above.
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